Chapter 2: Building Capital
The morning count happened at 0600. Roll call, headcount, the daily ritual of the prison making sure all its pieces were still in their boxes. I stood at my cell door with hands behind my back, watching the COs walk past. Bellick led the morning shift, clipboard in hand, small eyes scanning each cell with the intensity of a man looking for any excuse to write someone up.
When he passed my cell, his gaze lingered for a half-second longer than the others.
He's watching me.
Good. Let him watch.
Breakfast was reconstituted eggs, toast that could double as a roofing shingle, and coffee that tasted like it had been brewed in a mop bucket. I carried my tray through the chow hall, scanning faces, reading the room.
Sucre waved me over to his table. He was sitting with two other Puerto Rican inmates, both eyeing me with cautious curiosity.
"Yo, Danny! Over here, man."
I slid onto the bench across from him. "Morning."
"This is my cousin Manche," Sucre said, gesturing to the smaller guy on his left. "And that's Julio."
Manche had rat eyes—quick, nervous, always looking for the angle. Julio was bigger, scarred knuckles, the kind of quiet that came from being comfortable with violence.
"The magic man," Manche said. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Heard about you."
"Just some tricks," I said, biting into the toast. It crunched like cardboard. "Keeps people entertained."
"People talking about you, man," Julio rumbled. "New fish doesn't usually draw that much attention."
I shrugged. "I'm a people person."
Manche laughed, but it sounded forced. I filed him away: Informant. Probably feeding intel to the guards. Watch what you say around him.
Sucre, bless him, seemed oblivious to the undercurrent. "Danny said he's gonna teach me some tricks!" He grinned at his cousin. "When I get out, I'll impress Maricruz so bad she'll forget all about Hector."
"Hector?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Sucre's face fell. "Her... this guy she's supposed to marry. But she loves me, man. She does. Once I get out, once I show her I've changed—"
"You'll get your shot," I said, and meant it. Sucre was canon. He survived. He got his girl eventually, even if the road was messy.
"Yeah." Sucre nodded, his smile returning but shakier now. "Yeah, I will."
SUCRE'S POV
Danny was different from the other new guys. Most fish came in scared, trying to act tough but you could smell the fear on them like cheap cologne. Danny just... existed. Like he'd been here forever.
The way he did those card tricks yesterday—damn. Maricruz would've loved it. She always loved magic shows when they were kids. Her eyes would light up, trying to figure out how they did it.
When I get out, Sucre thought, stabbing his eggs with a plastic fork. When I get out, I'll do a trick for her. She'll laugh. She'll remember why she loves me.
"You listening, cuz?" Manche's voice cut through the daydream.
"Yeah, man. I'm listening."
But he wasn't really. He was watching Danny eat his breakfast with the same calm focus he did everything. Like nothing here touched him.
Sucre wanted to learn that. How to be calm. How to not feel like he was drowning every second he couldn't see Maricruz's face.
DANIEL'S POV
The yard opened at 0900. I was out the door with the first wave, heading for an empty table in the corner. The deck of cards came out automatically—I'd been shuffling them in my pocket during breakfast, keeping my fingers limber.
The crowd gathered faster today. Word had spread: The new guy does magic.
I gave them what they wanted. More card tricks. A coin that traveled from my hand to someone's shoe. A cigarette that turned into a pen. Simple stuff, but the reactions were pure gold.
That's when I spotted him watching from the fence line.
John Abruzzi.
Mob boss. Connected to organized crime on the outside. In prison for racketeering and conspiracy to murder. He stood with his crew—five guys who orbited him like planets around a sun—and watched my performance with the kind of cold calculation that made successful criminals successful.
I didn't acknowledge him. Not yet. Let him come to me if he wanted something.
"Yo, magic man!"
The voice was loud, aggressive, carrying across the yard. The crowd parted.
Avocado—I'd heard his name during breakfast, though I suspected it wasn't what his mother called him—was built like a brick shithouse. Six-three, two-fifty easy, most of it muscle gone to fat. He had the swagger of a man used to taking what he wanted.
"You owe me a show," Avocado said, stomping up to my table. His smile showed too many teeth. "Everyone else gets entertainment. What about me?"
I looked up slowly, letting my hands still. "Sure, man. What do you want to see?"
"I want to see your commissary money."
The yard went quiet. Even the guards were watching now.
I stood, keeping my hands visible. "That's not really a magic trick."
"Sure it is." Avocado stepped closer, using his height to loom. "You make your money disappear into my pocket. Like magic."
I could smell his breath—sour, like he'd been chewing tobacco. His pupils were slightly dilated. Adrenaline. He was looking for a fight, needed to establish dominance, and I was the new target.
My heart rate stayed steady. The original Daniel would've panicked. The new Daniel just calculated.
"Tell you what," I said. "Let me show you a different trick first. If you like it, you can have whatever you want from my commissary."
Avocado's eyes narrowed. He wasn't expecting cooperation. "What trick?"
"This one." My hand moved, faster than conscious thought. Three years of stage magic in my old life, plus the original Daniel's enhanced dexterity, made the motion blur. When my hand opened, I was holding Avocado's wallet.
The yard exploded.
Avocado's hand flew to his back pocket. Empty. His face went red. "How the fuck—"
"Magic," I said, holding it out to him with an exaggerated bow. "And now, for my next trick, I'll make myself disappear before you can hit me."
I should've been faster. I tried to be faster. But Avocado was already swinging, a haymaker that could've taken my head off.
Time slowed. I saw the fist coming, saw the trajectory, saw where it would land. My body moved on instinct—the original Daniel's combat training kicking in, combined with my own understanding of physics and motion.
I didn't dodge. I stumbled. Fell backward over my own feet like a complete klutz, arms windmilling.
Avocado's fist sailed over my head. His momentum carried him forward. With nothing to hit, he couldn't stop.
He crashed face-first into the chain-link fence with a sound like a gong.
The yard lost its mind. Inmates were laughing, shouting, pointing. Even some of the guards were grinning.
Avocado peeled himself off the fence, nose bleeding, eyes murderous.
"Break it up!" Bellick's voice cut through the noise. He stormed over with two other COs, baton already in hand. "Avocado! Against the wall! Now!"
"He stole my—"
"I said NOW!"
Avocado shot me a look that promised pain later, but he went. The COs cuffed him and dragged him toward the SHU.
Bellick turned to me. "You. Miller. What happened?"
I stood up slowly, dusting off my jumpsuit. "I was showing him a magic trick, sir. He got mad when I gave his wallet back. I tried to get out of the way, but I tripped."
Bellick's eyes said he knew exactly what I'd done. But the story was clean. A dozen inmates would back it up.
"Stay out of trouble, Miller," Bellick finally said. "Or you'll be joining him."
"Yes sir."
As the guards walked away, I felt the weight of a hundred eyes on me. I'd just publicly humiliated a bully and walked away clean. The math was simple:
Smart inmates would see opportunity. Dumb inmates would see threat. And everyone would remember my name.
I sat back down at my table and started shuffling cards again.
Lunch came and went. I ate with Sucre again, listening to him talk about Maricruz while mentally cataloging everything else happening in the chow hall. Who sat with whom. Who avoided whom. The flow of contraband—cigarettes, pills, favors—moving through the room like an invisible economy.
At 1400, Bellick found me in the library.
"Miller. Warden wants to see you."
My stomach tightened, but I kept my face neutral. "Yes sir."
We walked through B-Block, past the chapel, into the administrative wing. Bellick didn't say a word the entire time, but his body language spoke volumes: shoulders tight, jaw clenched, steps heavier than necessary.
He doesn't like that I'm getting attention. Doesn't like that I made Avocado look stupid.
We stopped outside the warden's office. Bellick knocked.
"Come in."
Warden Henry Pope sat behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, a book open in front of him. He looked up as we entered.
"Mr. Miller," he said. "Please, sit."
I sat. Bellick took up position by the door, arms crossed.
Pope studied me for a long moment. His eyes were sharp, thoughtful. I could read his expression: curiosity, wariness, but also something else. Interest.
"I heard about your performance yesterday," Pope said. "And your altercation this morning."
"I didn't start any altercation, sir. Avocado came at me—"
Pope held up a hand. "I've reviewed the security footage. You didn't start it. But you certainly finished it in a memorable fashion."
I said nothing.
"You're a magician," Pope continued. "That's an unusual skill set for Fox River."
"I like to entertain people, sir. Makes the time go easier."
"Indeed." Pope leaned back in his chair. "I also heard from CO Stolte that you performed some sleight of hand during processing. He was quite impressed."
Oh. This isn't a reprimand. This is recruitment.
"Thank you, sir."
"I run a rehabilitation facility, Mr. Miller, not just a warehouse for criminals. I believe in giving inmates opportunities to develop positive skills and contribute to the institution's culture." He paused. "Would you be willing to perform occasionally for the staff? Perhaps during their lunch breaks? It would be voluntary, of course."
I pretended to think about it. But the answer was obvious. Access to the guards. Social capital. Protection from people like Avocado.
"I'd be happy to, sir."
Pope smiled. "Excellent. CO Bellick will arrange the schedule."
Bellick's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
As we stood to leave, Pope added, "Oh, and Mr. Miller? Do try to stay out of trouble. I'd hate to lose our entertainment coordinator to segregation."
"Yes sir."
At 1500, Bellick marched me out to the guard break room. Six COs sat around a table, coffee mugs in hand, looking skeptical.
"All right, Miller," Bellick growled. "Warden says you're supposed to entertain us. So entertain."
I pulled out my deck of cards. "Gentlemen. Who wants to see something impossible?"
For thirty minutes, I gave them the full show. Cards appearing and disappearing, coins traveling through space, a pen that turned into a cigarette. I pulled quarters from behind ears, made watches vanish and reappear on different wrists, performed forces and shuffles that looked like pure chaos but were perfectly controlled.
By the end, they were applauding. Even Bellick cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it.
CO Stolte clapped me on the shoulder as I packed up. "That was great, man. Where'd you learn to do all that?"
"Old life," I said. "Before I made some bad choices."
It was the perfect answer. Self-aware. Regretful. Harmless.
Stolte bought it completely. "Well, keep it up. It's nice to have something good to watch around here."
As Bellick walked me back to A-Block, he finally spoke.
"You're playing a game, Miller. I don't know what it is yet, but I'll figure it out."
I met his eyes. "I'm just trying to survive, sir. Same as everyone else."
"Uh-huh." He unlocked the cellblock door. "Just remember—I'm watching you."
"I'll remember."
That evening, during rec time, Sucre found me at my usual table.
"Yo, Danny! That was crazy today, man. Everyone's talking about you."
"Yeah, well." I shuffled the cards. "Attention's a double-edged sword."
"Nah, man. Attention's good. People know not to mess with you now." He grinned. "You made Avocado look like a complete pendejo."
"He made himself look stupid. I just helped."
"Teach me," Sucre said suddenly. "Teach me that wallet trick. I wanna learn."
I studied him. His eagerness was genuine. No hidden agenda, no calculation. Just a man who wanted to impress the woman he loved.
You're going to be my best friend in here, I realized. The one person I can actually trust.
"All right, hermano," I said. "Lesson one: misdirection. People see what you want them to see. Everything else is invisible."
As I showed him the basic palm technique, I caught movement in my peripheral vision.
C-Note was watching from across the yard, arms crossed, expression thoughtful.
He's trying to figure me out, I thought. Smart. Careful. Potentially dangerous.
But that was a problem for another day.
For now, I had my first real ally, the guards thought I was harmless entertainment, and I'd established myself as someone you didn't mess with.
Four days until Michael Scofield arrived.
The pieces were falling into place.
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